“Exactly. In fact—”
“Absolutely not,” the Duke of Raven said, cutting his wife off. “That is not happening here, my love.”
The duchess looked mutinous, as did the other women in their family, and the Devilles’ if he was honest. Phoebe Levermarch did not look pleased either. She was something of a society darling, and terrifying alongside Dimity and the Duchess of Raven. Beauty, brains, and wit—a lethal combination.
Monty thought if he’d actually walked in society as himself, he would have liked to get to know some of these women properly. Yet another thing he’d not considered until today.
Clearly, he was unraveling like the hideous woolen cap his butler insisted on wearing in the cooler months to ward off headaches. It was mustard and lined with something. His mother had made it for him. Monty had offered a replacement; Haven would not hear of it.
“Plunge, try to stay upright!” someone called.
“Don’t break a heel!” another called. “I say, he’s not wearing heels,” the voice added.
He gritted his teeth. Why did these comments annoy him now? Before he’d thought them hilarious and even played up to them.
“Now, Plunge, you will be at the rear. Hold the rope in both hands,” Nathan Deville said, nudging him into line behind Zach. “We will do the work,” he added loudly.
Several unflattering comments filled his head. Thankfully, he kept them there.
Mincing to where he was told to stand, Monty tried to look terrified and nervous at the same time. His eyes found Iris not far away standing with the Deville women.
Why did just looking at her make him feel desperate for something he could never have?
“Focus, Plunge, we are beginning,” Zach said, interrupting his thoughts.
“I will lower my handkerchief, and the tug-of-war will start,” the Duchess of Yardly said.
“I have a spare lavender-scented one. Should you require it, Duchess?” Monty said, tearing his eyes from Iris.
“I do not!” she snapped back.
“Simpering fool,” someone muttered.
Monty smiled.
“Gentlemen, pick up your ropes!” the duchess yelled in a surprisingly strong voice, given she was nearing eighty, or so he believed. Not that anyone would expect anything less. The woman was a harridan, constantly scaring anyone who wronged her, and several who didn’t.
“Lovely dress, your grace,” the Duchess of Raven said. “What color do you call that, Duchess?”
“Wilted cabbage,” Cambridge Sinclair answered. “Rather fetching.”
“Are you ready?” the duchess snapped.
“No!” Monty cried pathetically.
“Yes,” everyone else replied.
The opposition was comprised of all the male members of the Sinclair and Raven family, which included a duke, lords, gentlemen, businessmen, a captain, an academic, and a pirate; even though he’d told everyone he was a privateer, society had not been convinced. In fact, they quite liked having a pirate among them.
For the most, they had strict rules and guidelines they adhered to and yet could be fickle when they chose to. Like having a pirate walk among them.
Monty had found that the Sinclair and Raven clan could get away with a great deal more than the rest of society. Perhaps because they didn’t seem to care overly if anyone liked them or not.
“Now, Plunge,” Nathan said in front of him. His face was inches from his.
Monty crossed his eyes. Nathan barked out a laugh. He then looked left and right, but as all the women were looking at the men in their shirtsleeves, and the men who weren’t engaged in the activity were wondering how to look like those in their shirtsleeves, no one was looking their way.
“Focus. You are the anchor. We will tie this rope around your waist, and all you need to do is stand there and look prettyish… or at the very least, like a man of sense.”
